Firstborn - Brandon Sanderson [5]
Dennison sighed, turning back toward Kern.
“I’ve seen worse,” Kern finally said.
“Oh?” Dennison said. “You’ve seen recordings of my Academy fights?”
Kern didn’t respond. He stood, tapping his chin in thought. “You asked what you are doing here,” he finally said. “Since you’re not going to be given a command.”
Dennison nodded.
“The High Emperor wants me to turn you into a leader,” Kern explained. “But I don’t intend to throw away any men on you. Therefore, I’ve found an instructor to train you.”
“Who?”
“Your brother,” Kern said. “Get used to this room, Dennison. You’re going to be spending a lot of time here. I want you to go through every one of Varion’s battles, studying his methods and his strategies. I want you to read every major profile written on him. You will become the Empire’s foremost expert on Varion Crestmar—you will memorize and you will practice until you can fight this battle, and any other, just as he would.”
“You’re kidding,” Dennison said flatly.
“You should get busy,” Kern said, then tapped his control pad. A list of dates and battles appeared on the wall. “You’ve got a lot of work to do.”
“Lord Kern, Sir,” Dennison said, speaking with an attention to formality he rarely invoked. “I’m not my brother. I never will be.”
“That’s no reason not to try and learn from him.”
“He destroyed my life,” Dennison said. “From the first day I entered the Academy, I was fated to fail. How could I do otherwise, considering what others expected of me? Let me study someone else. High Admiral Fallstate, perhaps.”
Kern thought for a moment, then shook his head. “You’ll do as I order, son.”
* * *
Each battle was a blow to his self-esteem. Even after studying Varion’s tactics, even after watching the battles replay over and over, Dennison had trouble winning. The simulator had a random factor in its programming so that he couldn’t just memorize and make the same moves that Varion had.
Dennison sighed, rubbing his forehead as he watched a holographic replay of his latest battle. His year aboard the Stormwind had passed quickly and with an odd sense of distortion. He felt removed from events in the Empire. His entire world was shrunken to an endless replay of strategies, tactics, and failures, centered around a single individual.
Varion.
The replay of Marus Seven continued. By this point, Varion’s fleet had grown to several thousand ships, and had official Imperial support. Varion hadn’t even been at this battle in-person; he had directed from his flagship many light-years away. The larger an object was, the longer it took to reach its destination via klage—so, while visual communications were essentially instantaneous, flagships could take months to travel between distant points of the empire.
These limitations frustrated Varion, so he had split his forces into two different battle groups, sending them in opposite directions. Dennison understood Varion’s reasoning now—a year of studying the Silvermane had immersed him in the worldview of a man he’d spent his life trying to escape. Who was Varion Crestmar? He was perfect. Dennison could no longer say that with even a hint of sarcasm.
Every day spent living his sibling’s life through battle brought the two of them closer. Dennison found himself spending his extra hours in the hologram room, looking over his recorded battles, then watching Varion’s handling of the same conflict. He stopped looking for the strategies and instead focused on the man. What kind of person was this Varion Silvermane? He had been separated from his family for two decades, living in glorious self-imposed exile because the war effort required all of his attention.
Many of these early battles in Varion’s campaign made perfect sense.